Valkyrie's Shadow

Before the Storm: Act 9, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As it turned out, the whole damn city of Re-Blumrushur was only half on fire. It took a few hours going down the other side of the cloud-shrouded pass before Liam could survey the reported damage. The city at the bottom of the valley was still over a day distant, but he could still make out the general details.

“It looks like only the lower city was affected,” he said.

“Of course,” Olin snorted. “It’s the only place where a fire like that could happen in this weather.”

Liam nodded in agreement as he scanned the smouldering skeletons of the buildings in Re-Blumrushur’s common districts. Living in the city was a crowded affair: apartments were cramped, buildings were crammed close together to maximise the use of the space inside the walls, and all manner of refuse tended to collect out of sight of the major streets. Given Marquis Blumrush’s reputation, Liam wouldn’t be surprised if the city’s ruler cut corners to save on what he might consider unnecessary maintenance.

His eyes went to the formidable castle atop the hill in the upper city.

“Does Marquis Blumrush usually stay in the city?” Liam asked.

“No,” Olin answered, “he’s usually in the capital.”

“Then who’s in charge here?”

“What is that?”

Olin gave him a strange look.

“Why? Have you ever been around the kid of a highlord before?”

“No…”

“Then pray that you never do. He’s not part of the bunch we’re doing anything with anyway, so we don’t need to get anywhere near House Blumrush.”

The man’s answer wasn’t very satisfactory, but he had a point. They were going to the city to exchange their cargo for whatever Beaumont County needed to survive until the next harvest and to hire essential household staff. That evening, as they settled into their camp atop a ridge overlooking the valley, Liam shared his findings with the Countess.

“This isn’t good,” Lady Beaumont said as she bit her lip, “and not only in the general sense. Based on your description of the damage to the common districts, it will be difficult to negotiate any price for the supplies that we need.”

“Do you have any other options?” Liam asked.

“The only option is to go to the source,” the Countess answered. “Hopefully some of my peers still reside within the city.”

“But didn’t they say that the Nobles shut their granaries?”

“I did,” Lady Beaumont said. “But that means different things to different people. A Merchant wouldn’t be able to obtain a single bushel no matter how much gold they offer, but the word of a fellow Noble will open many doors.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Claire said. “Why should the word of a Noble be worth more than that of a Merchant or anyone else?”

Claire’s question drew the attention of every man around the fire. Countess Beaumont raised her chin as she coolly regarded her Maid.

“I suppose I should forgive you for your ignorance considering where you were raised,” the Countess said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Maid crossed her arms.

“It means precisely what it means,” the Countess replied. “You were raised as an urbanite, so you interpret the world as one. The ties that bind what passes as your communities are weak. A man operating a food stand could be replaced by another and no one would bat an eyelash unless they were in some way related to him. Most don’t even know how their food reaches the market in the first place beyond some vague notion that a farm exists somewhere to supply it. Every labourer has a hundred replacements waiting to take their place; for that same reason, the fear and selfishness of the citizens are magnified a thousand-fold. By the same token, you allow the Guilds to oppress you and do their bidding no matter how callously you are discarded.

“The aristocratic establishment, on the other hand, is an institution in which every member – from the highest of High Nobles to the brave pioneers on the fringes of civilisation – is part of a collective, multi-generational effort to build the future. When I act in my capacity as a Noble, I do it not as an individual or even the head of House Beaumont, but as the representative of that collective effort and all of its history. That is why my word is worth more than that of a Merchant motivated by personal profit or the petty interests held by any particular individual.”

Claire shrank away from Lady Beaumont as she spoke. Reed, however, didn’t hesitate to point out what everyone else seemed to be thinking.

“That ‘history’ my lady’s talkin’ about ain’t so great if ya ask me.”

The young noblewoman instantly deflated, her proud mask wavering in the flickering firelight.

“You’re right, of course,” Lady Beaumont said. “Anyone living in the Azerlisian Marches would have difficulty accepting what I said. Marquis Blumrush is far from a shining example of leadership and I have only recently discovered of my lord father’s lacklustre tenure as your liege. But I truly mean everything that I say. I am thankful that everyone is generous enough to allow me time to prove myself as your new lord.”

With that, the Countess retreated to the shelter of her wagon. The men gathered at the fire exchanged silent looks before digging into their meals. Reed shuffled over, plate in hand.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“You don’t believe what you said just now?” Liam asked back.

“Oh, I do,” the woodsman said as he soaked his hardened bread into a bowl of stew, “I was just wondering what you think about it.”

Liam thought back to the different kingdoms he had visited in the past year. It was only then that he realised much he had gotten around recently.

“I think the houses of every kingdom try to be like what Lady Beaumont described,” Liam replied. “And by houses, I mean the Nobles and everyone attached to them – the ‘establishment’ she described. It takes a lot of people to make a fief work and everyone has a job to do. The problem is that there are a lot of ways to reach that ideal and Re-Estize just happens to be behind all the other kingdoms when it comes to being, uh…functional.”

“…is it really that bad here?” Reed asked, “I always figured every kingdom was about the same.”

“The different kingdoms I’ve been to aren’t perfect,” Liam answered. “People can be greedy, selfish, cowardly, or just plain stupid. But, somehow, Re-Estize is the only place where they let all that win. There are places out there where entire towns and cities are eaten by Beastmen, yet the people find it within themselves to get back up no matter how many times they’re knocked down. Here, Humans prey on you and you just accept it.”

“You know why that is,” Reed said. “Men aren’t made equal. Even if you don’t count the Six Arms, the Eight Fingers are plenty powerful. A guy like Olin can take out whole gangs without breaking a sweat and they have hundreds of people just as strong as he is. Better to live and do what you can to help your people survive than to die fighting a fight you’ll never win.”

“I used to think like that,” Liam said. “Back when I was just a kid scratching up a living on the streets. Now that I’ve seen what others face elsewhere and how they carry themselves, that kind of thinking doesn’t make sense to me anymore. Humans don’t have tough hides or powerful natural weapons. They don’t have supernatural strength or magical abilities. Compared to an Ogre or a Beastman, it’s easy to make a Human bleed…and if it can bleed, then it can die.”

“That’s some dangerous thinking,” Reed said. “Almost anyone would get themselves killed trying to follow it and everyone else would call ‘em fools.”

“That’s the swindle, isn’t it?” Liam replied, “Organisations like the Eight Fingers – no, even a bit thug controlling their little part of an alley – rely on the idea that people tend to have a short-sighted view of the world. They want everyone to think that no one will come and help. That no one cares. That they’re alone. Most of the battle is won when they can get their victims to accept the ‘reality’ they’ve crafted for them and that pit only gets deeper with every passing day.”

After that, enforcing that reality was only a matter of feeding people excuses and ways to cope while making an example of someone once in a while. It surprised him that some variation of the same game was being played no matter where he went. Maybe it was just an inevitable part of Human society.

“So where does that leave us?” Reed asked, “The Eight Fingers ain’t exactly gettin’ in our way.”

“They’re not,” Liam agreed, “but the reality they’ve created still lives. Lady Beaumont’s work will go a long way towards making things better. As members of her retinue, you need to help her out with that.”

“Retinue?” The woodsman snorted, “Even if you dress us up in house colours, it won’t change what we are.”

“Believe it or not,” Liam said, “most men-at-arms come from common backgrounds. Sure, they get training and equipment, but that only helps them better understand where they stand in the grand scheme of things and how they can do their part. I don’t think you guys need a Knight to tell you what’s needed to help Lady Beaumont lead everyone out of this mess.”

“That’s another thing that’s been naggin’ at me all this time,” Reed said. “How do we know she’s actually doin’ that? When she first came to Beaumont County, she was just an annoyin’ highborn brat. The moment you appear, she starts runnin’ things as if they’re second nature to her. You been tellin’ her what to do?”

Liam blinked in surprise.

“Me? No. I’ve actually been instructed to minimise my influence on her work.”

“Then how the hell is she doin’ it?”

“Well, she’s the only daughter of a Count,” Liam said. “House Blumrush would’ve invested in her education as part of making her an attractive marriage prospect. She probably never had the chance to apply her education until recently.”

In hindsight, the Countess’ rapid progress made sense. Her father had left House Beaumont in a ruinous state and any suppression by the Eight Fingers that might have occurred in response to her attempting to rectify the situation was prohibited. According to the scriptures, it was the sort of challenging scenario that would greatly accelerate Lady Beaumont’s development. No one would purposely screw a fief up just to train a Noble, but there was nothing wrong with taking advantage of a bad situation that was already happening.

They broke camp early the next morning in hopes that they would make the city gates by midday. Unfortunately, their efforts seemed in vain when they arrived at the end of a long line of wagons that had a far shorter distance to travel. Liam hung to the side of the Countess’ wagon to keep his boots out of the mud as the sun traversed unseen behind the clouds overhead. Like E-Rantel, Re-Blumrushur was built for defence against invaders, though the primary threat in the region was not the Empire or the Theocracy, but the nearby populations of tribal Demihumans and other denizens of the wilderness.

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Or themselves…

Liam eyed the sentries manning the city’s fortifications. Their livery didn’t match the colours whipping in the wind over the city’s northern gate and the air they gave off was nothing like the retinues he had observed in the Holy Kingdom or even E-Raevel. He opened the tarp covering Lady Beaumont’s wagon a crack.

“My lady.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Men in unfamiliar livery are stationed on the walls. A silver fox on black and white and a brown boar on green and yellow.”

“Those are Mercenaries,” the young noblewoman told him. “Silver Foxearth and the Razorspine Regiment. They’re two of the largest Mercenary companies in the Azerlisian Marches.”

“Why were they hired to man the walls?” Liam asked, “Doesn’t House Blumrush have its own security?”

“They’re likely on the ground,” the Countess answered. “Mercenaries can’t be trusted for proper militia work.”

In other words, House Blumrush had people present, but not enough to secure the city and deal with the fire’s aftermath. Liam’s gaze went past the line of wagons laden with their loads of timber, stone, and ore to the narrow gate built into the Re-Blumrushur’s northern wall. Sure enough, he immediately spotted a Knight in a Blumrush surcoat overseeing the customs staff.

“Couldn’t they call on their vassals for help? They would be far more trustworthy than a bunch of Mercenaries.”

A long sigh issued from the opening in the tarp.

“House Blumrush doesn’t trust anyone, Liam,” Lady Beaumont told him. “Mercenaries are more reliable in their eyes because the forces of any local lord may try to abuse their de facto power to steal from the city or exert their influence on the population.”

“…is that something that happens here?”

“It’s not impossible,” the Countess replied.

“Then won’t all the men accompanying you get us in trouble with House Blumrush?” Liam asked.

“I believe Mister Olin should be able to get us into the city without issue,” Lady Beaumont answered.

“What’s the Eight Fingers’ relationship with House Blumrush?”

“It’s rather simple,” the young noblewoman replied. “They pay House Blumrush to look the other way. Once in a while, they’ll do their dirty work: weakening vassals who grow too powerful or wealthy for the Marquis’ liking or murdering uppity Merchants. They’re also a channel for various collectables that the Marquis favours.”

“Did House Blumrush pop right out of a Bard’s tale?” Liam muttered.

“I’ve heard that performers in lower-class establishments can be quite unforgiving in their portrayals of aristocrats,” the young noblewoman said, “but I’m uncertain if they’re capable of rendering the superlative quality of House Blumrush. At any rate, I can only imagine that House Blumrush will be especially aggressive with all that’s happened to their city. We will have to be very wary if they come to interact with us, but I believe we’ll also be able to take advantage of several conditions created by their behaviour.”

“Such as…?”

“I’ll have to hear what’s going on in the city and speak with my peers before I venture any specific predictions. Broadly speaking, House Blumrush is sure to shift most of the burdens related to this disaster onto the shoulders of its vassals and their subjects.”

Liam supposed that was why Marquis Blumrush kept his vassals poor and weak. The man was so focused on staying on top that the Azerlisian Marches were stuck in a woefully underdeveloped state, but he didn’t care so long as it allowed him to remain in control.

A frigid drizzle started pelting them just before it came their turn to enter the city. Liam quietly made his way over to the front of the caravan, where the Knight stationed at the gate was speaking with Olin.

“That’s a whole lot of men, Olin,” the Knight said as he ran a cold eye over their wagons.

“Not much more than I left with, Sir Damien,” Olin replied. “We’ve come in with Beaumont’s first winter shipment.”

“Beaumont?” A hint of incredulity coloured the Knight’s tone, “Nothing’s come out of there for over a year.”

“The new Countess has been busy trying to fix that,” Olin said.

Sir Damien’s look turned calculating as he rubbed one end of his moustache.

“Quite the success for one so young,” the Knight said. “I take it that Lady Beaumont is present?”

“She is,” Olin nodded, “but it’s been a miserable journey. She’s probably not in the mood to entertain anyone at the moment.”

The Knight scoffed.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said. “If our young Countess has been as successful as you say, Lord Reginald will wish to have a word with her.”

As the Knight turned on his heel, Liam retreated up the opposite side of the caravan to the Countess’ wagon. Lady Beaumont and Claire both started in fright when he leapt onto the back of the wagon bed. He scanned the interior of the cosy-looking space, finding his Heating Hoop placed atop a stack of accounts. The Countess looked up at him in confusion as he grabbed the magic item.

“Liam, what are you doing?”

“Deactivating this. There’s one Sir Damien riding over to see you.”

“S-Sir Damien? W-Wait, I’m n-not decent yet!”

The young noblewoman’s teeth began to chatter as the wagon’s interior rapidly lost its warmth. Fortunately, for whatever reason, Sir Damien insisted on having his warhorse delivered so he could address the Countess on horseback, giving them several minutes to prepare for his arrival.

As the two girls started making their preparations, Liam closed up the back of the wagon before hopping off and making sure the tarps covering the vehicle were tied shut.

“There’s a Knight comin’?” Reed asked.

“Yeah,” Liam answered. “Do you know this Sir Damien guy?”

Reed shook his head.

“We barely see any Knights around our part of the march and they don’t stick around any longer than they need to. What should we do?”

“That’s a good question…”

Liam considered Reed and his men. By nearly any measure, they looked like a gang of woodsmen. Trying to pass them off as professional armsmen probably wouldn’t work.

“This Knight is proud enough to get his horse from the stables before speaking with Lady Beaumont,” Liam said. “You guys don’t look like anyone important right now, so just act like some subjects she’s gathered to help with stuff.”

“Shouldn’t be hard,” Reed said. “That’s pretty much what we are.”

“No,” Liam told the woodsman, “you’re not. You’re all members of Lady Beaumont’s retinue. For now, it’s easier to act lower than your station because that station has rules you’re not aware of or used to yet. I’ve heard enough about House Blumrush that I know their people are the type to stir up trouble whenever it suits them. Just keep your heads down, speak only when you’re spoken to, and let Countess Beaumont do the talking anytime else.”

The sound of unseen hooves splashing over the waterlogged clay roads slowly grew closer. Liam turned and stepped up onto the footboard hanging off the back of the wagon. Sir Damien finally appeared in the archway of the gate, galloping his charger over before reining it in beside the Countess’ wagon. The Knight peered at Liam with a suspicious look.

“You’re a bit young to be a footman,” he said.

“I am what my lady made me, Sir,” Liam replied.

“Hmph. Couldn’t you have found your mistress a better vehicle?”

“It’s the winter roads, Sir. A city carriage wouldn’t survive them. How shall I announce your arrival, Sir?”

“Sir Damien Dale Whiteford. Lady Beaumont should know who I am.”

Liam felt a bit silly leaning into a wagon with nothing but a flimsy tarp separating the occupants from the Knight standing next to it.

“Miss Claire,” he said, “Sir Damien Dale Whiteford is here to see Lady Beaumont.”

The Maid replied with a clueless look. Countess Beaumont yanked her deeper into the wagon. Liam emerged from the wagon, holding the Knight’s gaze as a bout of furious whispering ensued.

“Is the way to the upper city safe, Sir Damien?” Liam asked.

“Our men guard the main thoroughfares,” the Knight answered, “but the riff-raff still dares to show their faces every now and then. Be on guard for dirty waifs trying to sneak in to pilfer your supplies.”

“Thank you for the warning, Sir Damien,” Liam nodded. “I’m sure the men will be able to keep that sort of trouble at bay.”

Sir Damien’s gaze shifted past the wagon to the retinue behind it. Reed and his men shifted on their feet as they turned their gazes downward, looking about as impressive as a fresh levy. The Knight’s hand came up to stroke the end of his blonde moustache again.

“They’re a bit raw to be a proper retinue, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Sir,” Liam said. “These men were just recently assembled to escort shipments to the city. Honestly, they’re more at home in our woods.”

The Knight looked away with a noncommittal grunt. Claire’s head popped out from the back of the wagon a moment later.

“My lady will see you now,” she said.

Even Sir Damien seemed at a loss as to how to proceed. He froze when the Countess’ head emerged in the place of her Maid’s.

“Sir Damien,” the young noblewoman smiled brightly in greeting. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s been nearly half a year since we last spoke. You’ll forgive me if I decline to step out into these…conditions.”

“Think nothing of it, Countess Beaumont,” the Knight bowed politely in response, “and it is ever a pleasure to see you. I have it on good word that you’ve been working hard to return your lands to a productive state. My Lord Reginald will be pleased to know that House Beaumont remains loyal to House Blumrush in these troubling times.”

“I was most distressed to discover what awaited us on the other side of the pass,” Lady Beaumont said. “Rumours have been flying up and down the highway, but I would prefer to hear the truth of this tragedy from a reputable source.”

The Knight sneered as his gaze passed the line of wagons to the city beyond.

“What else could it be?” He said, “The sheer amount of vermin infesting the lower city finally reached the point that disaster became inevitable. We can thank the King and that stupid daughter of his for this debacle. Pandering to the filth never results in a positive outcome.”

“How upsetting,” the Countess sighed. “What are Lord Reginald’s plans going forward?”

“What choice do we have but to rebuild?” Sir Damien replied, “The burden of reconstruction falls upon the shoulders of the aristocracy and the riff-raff will never appreciate our sacrifice on their behalf.”

“I see,” Lady Beaumont said, “how will House Blumrush’s vassals be contributing to the recovery efforts?”

“Nothing that the Azerlisian Marches doesn’t have an abundance of,” the Knight said as he reached into his surcoat and withdrew a scroll. “A special reconstruction tax is being levied. Each fief will pay triple its annual taxes, preferably in the form of ore, lumber, stone, and other materials required for reconstruction. It isn’t required all at once, of course, so House Blumrush is willing to be flexible so long as the city’s stockpiles are amply supplied.”

“That seems reasonable,” the Countess nodded. “Where shall the goods be delivered?”

“The castle yard,” Sir Damien said. “Would you like an escort, my lady?”

“Thank you for the offer, Sir Damien,” Lady Beaumont said, “but I’ll be stopping by the manor first. Have there been any issues in the upper city?”

“General maintenance has been behind with all that’s happened, but little more than that.”

“In that case, I should be about my business. Thank you for your kind assistance, Sir Damien.”

“Have a good afternoon, my lady.”

With another polite bow, the Knight wheeled his horse around and trotted it off in the direction of the gatehouse. Not long after, the Countess’ wagons started moving forward again. A low murmur rose from Reed’s men as crossing into the city revealed the full extent of the damage from the fires. The charred frames of countless wooden buildings lined the streets, many still smouldering from the blaze that had consumed them. It was easier to count the number of buildings that had survived unscathed than the other way around.

“My lady,” Liam asked in a low voice, “what did Sir Damien mean by this being the fault of the Crown?”

“He’s likely referring to some of the legislation passed by the Royal Court over the last few years,” Lady Beaumont replied. “Normally, when the towns and cities get too crowded, the excess population is rounded up and sold to the nearby mines. Now that slavery is illegal, there’s no incentive to deal with overcrowding.”

“So the people have no work and nowhere to go,” Liam said, “yet that’s somehow their fault?”

“It’s unreasonable to fault anyone on the matter,” the Countess said. “One cannot be blamed for being born; nor can they be blamed for wanting to live. There simply isn’t enough to go around no matter how talented the administration is.”

Liam had heard that reasoning before. Or, rather, it was the reality that most Human countries in the region faced. Rural tenancies could only support a certain number of people and how much work was available in urban centres was limited by how productive the land was. Beyond electing to participate in almsgiving at the local temple, few gave any thought to the fate of the impoverished.

A skinny man in well-worn clothing detached himself from the burnt-out shell of a high street tavern, slowly shifting closer to the path of their wagons. Liam went to the foremost wagon to raise one corner of its protective cover. Upon seeing the crates of unrefined ore, the man clicked his tongue and turned away with a sour expression.

That’s not good…

There wasn’t the slightest hint of greed or speculation in the man’s reaction. If anything, he was upset over having his time wasted. Liam’s gaze followed the man as he entered the closest alley, which was crowded with people taking what shelter they could from the wind and rain. To his surprise, the looks that the caravan received weren’t filled with fear, hunger, or desperation, but resentment.

“I wonder what really happened here,” Liam said.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Olin replied.

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